


At His Leisure

by angelblack3



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Dominance, Light Possessiveness, M/M, Mentions of Toys, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelblack3/pseuds/angelblack3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever Khan gets to fuck Chekov, he has to do it slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At His Leisure

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So this is just a little something something I wrote up for the wonderful tumblr artist Johnnybooboo. Her fan works and fic recs have made me slowly nose dive into this crack ship. And I thank her for it quite emphatically. 
> 
> I just want to quickly thank everyone for being so patient with me on my weird hiatus. I assure you, the next chapter of Nice Night Out will be up soon. You're all so wonderful and I can't wait to finish the other things that siren call my muse!

When Khan gets to fuck Chekov, [which has become frustratingly rare recently, since his plans are drawing closer and closer to conclusion], he does it slowly. Has to. The man is so unbelievably small and tight. Back when they did this on a regular basis, he didn’t have to. Some preparation, certainly, but his body had become used to Khan’s…. physical superiority. One day, he had placed a plug inside of him, had told him to keep it there unless he absolutely had to take it out.

And the good boy had done just that. Khan hadn’t needed to stretch him open with his fingers that day. He’d slid into him like he belonged there. Now though, now he has to carefully pry him apart with fingers. He has to slick up the ensign until he can’t tell where the pressure ends or begins, just that it’s there but it’s never enough. In the beginning of their ‘relationship’, it was rather annoying to have to put off his own pleasure for the sake of another.

Now though, it’s a treat in and of itself to watch Chekov lose and debase himself in the steady buildup. He watches the little Russian ride his fingers and bite his knuckles to keep from crying out with the same intensity he gives to battle tactics and weapons designs. With three fingers deep inside of him, Khan presses his thumb to the skin behind Chekov’s scrotum. The boy apparently decides that biting his knuckles could result in losing a finger.

He tosses his sweaty, curly head back into the pillows, making a sound that would be a scream if it wasn’t so choked off at the end. Khan strokes the boy’s achingly hard prick to hear it repeated. He does it again, then for a third time, then stops when Chekov’s stomach caves and his chest expands. As it always does whenever he’s about to cum. The noise Pavel makes is a sweet, drawn out, pained note of complete surrender.

Khan licks at the sweaty crease of his thigh as a reward. He spreads his fingers, circles them slightly, draws them out, and slowly pushes them back in. Each move is decadent in its debauchery. The Russian, good boy that he is, doesn’t touch himself. Though from the way he clutches the sheets while his cock makes tiny jerking motions, he desperately wants to. But to ensure that Khan fully receives the message that he would like to be fucked now, his moans are punctuated with breathy ‘Pleases’ and ‘Johns’.

When that only serves to pull a wicked smirk onto the man’s face, Chekov rotates his hips in a way that he knows will drive the man to blown pupils and growls of possessive tones. And yes, Khan’s pupils dilate to saucers, but he still doesn’t stop _teasing_. So Pavel resorts to more underhanded means. When the fingers are drawn out to the last knuckle again, he doesn’t wait for them to be slowly pushed back. He slams himself down, swallowing them inside of his body. The beautiful, wonderful, terrible man above him actually _gasps_ in surprise. Then the Russian starts to _bounce_ off of those digits, and suddenly Khan has lost the control that he holds so dear.

He forces the boy's legs back until his knees almost touch his shoulders. Pavel whines at the stretch, but it's more need than pain. 

Khan slowly guides himself in, regaining some last shred of self control. The preparation that he's built up for the past twenty minutes won't be nearly enough, so he pushes in inch by torturous inch. Pavel has absolutely no where to go, so he just lies there. He moves his arms to drape over John's back, scratching at the back of his neck.

The pain barely registers in Khan's mind, but he still hisses. And watching this man lose himself to the lust over his body is too much for Chekov, and he rocks up into Khan's length. The man growls, and curls his fists where they're braced by Pavel's head. He wants nothing more than to bury himself into that tight heat over and over again until he doesn't have the energy to beg him to stop. 

But that's for another night. A night when he has nothing left to lose. 

Being so filled isn't a surprise anymore, but it's still hard to get used to. So Chekov whimpers on the sweet and hot feeling of being stretched, shivering in place of squirming. 

Khan brushes back the curls on his face, his penetrating eyes taking a moment to watch the Russian become so lost in pleasure. He leans down as much as he can with the boy's legs in his way to utter the two words that will bring him to an even deeper sense of incoherency. 

_"Good boy."_

Sure enough, he whines, high and reedy in the back of his throat, and tries to gain enough leverage to move Khan's cock even deeper inside of him. His struggles are futile of course, but they are as endearing as they are arousing. Khan chuckles darkly and moves a hand down to grip the boy's hip. 

He pulls himself almost all of the way out with a skillful undulation of his pelvis, then slams himself back inside. 

Chekov's nails scratch deeper into Khan's neck. 

Over and over and over again, with the same brutal efficiency, Khan takes Chekov apart. Not every thrust hits his prostate, but that only prolongs the sweet knife's edge of pleasure between 'not enough' and 'just right'. The sound of hips meeting thighs is loud in the small room, but not as loud as Pavel's moans. Each note drives a deep shock of desire up Khan's spine, until he's just as lost as the ensign. 

Their harsh rhythm keeps up for a while, because there's only one well-practiced way this will end. 

Peeling away his hand from Pavel's finger shaped and crimson marked hip, Khan tugs on Chekov's golden curls and snarls close to his ear, "Do you want to come?"

His answer is an affirming moan, but that's not good enough. They both know it isn't, but the best part is soon to come.

"Say it," Khan demands, "Tell me what you want." 

He drives his cock inside of the boy's body once, twice, and three brutal times before Pavel remembers his words again. "Please," he hisses, clutching John closer to him, "Please make me come." And when Khan continues to fuck him with no result, Chekov tries again, " _Sir_ , please make me come. John, _please_." And he would make it prettier, he would. But he can barely remember his own name. He just wants this white hot burning inside of him to finally explode so he can stop feeling like he's about to combust. 

Khan snarls greedily, pleased at how _eager_ Chekov is, and takes the boy's ruddy prick in his hand. He strokes once, twice, continuing to fuck him, before Chekov spills onto his own stomach and chest with a gargled shout. 

And Khan continues to keep up his pace, while Chekov squirms in oversensitive bliss, before finally coming inside of him. Opening his jaw for a satisfied gasp is what makes him realize that he'd been gritting his teeth. He hangs in suspended climax for a few heady moments, then falls on top of the boy. He rolls over at the last minute to not crush him completely under his weight. 

They lay there in relative silence, gasping for breath. The scent of sex and sweat pungent in the close quarters. Soon, 'John' will have to dress himself and continue with his business that his little man has been so polite to not inquire about. Perhaps, before this is over, he can get one last fuck out of him. Failing that, he'll have to pay the Russian a visit under more...enlightened terms. 

For now, he traces patterns in the shivering boy's skin, keeping thoughts of the troubled future mercifully out of his head.


End file.
